Snowstorm
by Tashash
Summary: A Dragon Age II fic written for The Official Fenris Discussion Forum at Bioware Social, written before the game came out, so possible spoilers/inconsistencies. Fenris/F!Hawke. I own nothing. Mild language. Fluffy. Enjoy.
1. Snow

The morning came, and snow was falling.

Thankfully it was light and not the blizzard that had stranded them for the night on Sundermount. It had been stupid, a monumentally stupid idea, to try and climb the notorious peak at this time of year. But they had needed the coin and the threat of Darkspawn in the pass had meant the Kirkwall Guard had been willing to pay, knowing their own men were not equipped or suited to the task. This was mercenaries work, not soldiers.

And it might not have been so bad – If Isabela had not been away, had Varric not been dealing with something urgent for his family, if Merril had not been involved in her own quest against slavers, if Aveline had not gone with her, on Hawke's own orders, if Bethany had not been injured badly in the last fight, if Anders had not been needed to watch over her, if Sebastian had not been hunting down an informant with links to the Crows... So many _ifs_.

But that was the way it had to be and so it had been herself and Fenris, more than enough for the Darkspawn, but sadly not enough for the weather. They had set out in the morning, with the weather fine and it had been supposed to stay that way. She had been glad to get out of the city – Kirkwall was just so...big. So closed in, so unlike tiny little Lothering, which was barely more than a farm settlement. _Was _being quite apt now.

She had enjoyed it, being out in fresh air, walking on grass and under trees, honing her Survival skills as they tracked the Darkspawn and kept alert for danger or ambush. Their information pointed to a small band of Genlocks and Hurlocks, no Emissaries, Ogres or Shrieks and the trail established that, but it never hurt to be cautious and Fenris had pointed out that their group could be heading to rendezvous with another ahead and she agreed.

She had never had the chance to work solely with Fenris and it was...odd. Bethany she knew as well as her own daggers and could never be ill at ease with, Aveline was never very vocal, but never quiet – rasping leather, jingling chainmail, the thud of her footsteps – Hawke could always tell she was there. Varric never shut up, unless he had to, Isabela had a _presence_, as far as she could explain it, Anders flirted, complained and joked, Sebastian would point out things of interest and Merril she kept in her sights, feeling strangely protective of the girl, even knowing the Dalish spellcaster could well take care of herself.

But Fenris...Moved like silk over skin, his bare feet making as little noise as hers, and did not talk, instead preferring to motion to things he wanted to bring to her attention. His armour did not creak or clatter and she wondered if it was enchanted or perhaps very well-made or if it was simply because Fenris wore it.

He confused her terribly at times. He had run away from the magister who had branded him with Lyrium, and yet at times it seemed he _wanted _to confront him, he would let no one touch him, even to heal him but he fought ferociously and often physically, he hated mages and yet got on well with the three in their party. Well, as well as he got on with anyone – he was singularly the most _alone_ person she had ever met. And that was another puzzle; Fenris did not interact with their group, did not listen to Varric's tales, did not respond to Isabela's flirting, did not banter with Anders, did not discuss weaponry with Aveline, ignored Meril's attempts at conversation and Bethany's questions and simply ignored Sebastian. He would listen to Hawke's orders, but only if she made it an order.

So why was he with them, their little ragtag group? Why stay? He seemed to not need companionship and could very well take care of himself. Why even take orders from her? She had wondered if he thought that if he _didn't_ she would turn him in, but she had told him when they met that he could leave as he wished, had made sure he understood that he was a mercenary, not a slave.

They had made their way up the mountain as her thoughts swirled in her head like fog, but the freshness of the trail had forced her to concentrate – daydreaming got your head separated from your shoulders. She and Fenris picked up the pace, hunting rather than tracking now and readying themselves for the combat to come.

Thankfully the Darkspawn had been alone, three Genlocks, one Hurlock and one short, brutal and bloody battle far up the mountain as the snow began to fall. Between her daggers and Fenris' broadsword the Darkspawn went down. Injuries were minor, cuts, bruises and abrasions – nothing that would not heal on its own. But now the snow was falling thick and fast, the wind beginning to howl in a sudden storm. She had not seen this coming, the blizzard was unprecedented, and they had not enough supplies, or the right kind. This was bad, very, very bad.

"Hawke, are we not leaving?" came the polite question. She shook her head.

"We can't Fenris."

"The Darkspawn are dead are they not? And there is no sign of any others." Again, his voice was nothing but calm and polite. At times she found it infuriating, how _emotionless _he seemed...Or simply was.

"We can't make it down in this snowstorm." She explained.

He looked at the snowflakes tumbling down, moved by the wind.

"It does not seem so bad."

"It isn't right now, but already it's getting hard to see, and soon we won't be able to. We'd not be halfway down before we were blind."

"Surely if we moved quickly..." Why was he being so stubborn?

"NO! Fenris, listen to me, you go out into that you will end up blind and frozen."

"It is just snow." And he was turning to leave.

By the Black City, he really was going to try it – and he would die. And she couldn't let him, he didn't know the danger, but the only way to stop him now was...She lunged forward, praying that she wasn't about to be skewered, and grabbed his arm.

The blow across her face stung, as did the quick kick to her knee that sent her down to the cold ground, but most worrying was his weight on top of her and the small but very sharp knife pressed to her throat...Until she saw his eyes, she had never seen that look in them or in anyone's but instinct knew what it meant. And she was afraid, wondering how many moments she had left before he slit her throat.

"_Do not touch me._"

And she had disliked it when his voice was emotionless...Stupid, right now she would give anything to never hear that tone in his voice again, directed at her or not. She dared not move or speak, could barely breathe without feeling the daggers edge rasp against her throat.

_Throat, always a good place to go for, almost as good as eyes, oftentimes left woefully unprotected, despite is vulnerability. Slit it properly and your victim bleeds out quick and quiet, if you don't want 'em dead but want 'em down and quiet a stiff-fingered jab does the job, they can't breath for a while and can't call for help, or a choke hold to knock 'em out, an' you do that thus..._

Why oh why was she re-living her Rogue training? Surely if she was going to die she could have something more interesting to pass across her mind? That night with Emeryn perhaps? A hand gripped her hair and yanked, apparently Fenris had been talking to her while she waited to die, she yelped and turned her attention back to him.

"Why?" was the harshly voiced question, and for a moment she wasn't sure what he was asking.

"You were going to get yourself killed! I had to stop you somehow and you weren't listening to reason."

"I do not wish to be touched."

Oh that was the Templar calling the Crow a murderer.

"Says the elf sitting on my chest with a knife at my throat and _pulling my hair_!" She shouted.

For a moment Fenris froze and his eyes seemed to flicker, the gesture oddly reminiscent of Carver when he had to think hard and quickly.

_And Maker how it hurt to think of him, to be reminded of him._

Fenris finally pulled the knife away from her throat, moving off her and standing with a grace even she envied. She hauled herself up, rubbing a shoulder that would most certainly be bruised. Her arse was numb from the cold ground and the sensation brought to her attention their most pressing concern.

"We have to find shelter, while we can still see. Pick up firewood if we find it." Fenris looked at her, with an expression she was sure was exasperation.

"You still wish to stay here?"

"Do you know anything about surviving a snow storm in the mountains Fenris?"

"Get out of it; try to get off the mountain..."

"No! No, no and again **nooo**. Firstly, if you are with others you stay together. You find shelter while you can, but as soon as you can't see you stop."

"Why?"

"Because if you try to wander in a snow storm you die. It's white, nothing but white. Left becomes Right, backwards is forwards, you could be on the path or on the edge of a cliff. And the only luck you have left is if your body is found come spring. Now come on. I saw a cave a little back, we can still reach it." She moved off, hoping he would follow and was more relieved than she could say when he did.

The cave was really more of a crack in the mountainside, but she and Fenris would fit, and a smaller gap to let in wind and snow was _good_. They had found nothing to use as firewood, probably the Darkspawn had scrounged it all, cursed damn monsters. It didn't really matter – the cave was barely enough for two, if they had tried to have a fire in there they would have been sitting on it.

The night was going to be far from comfortable. And speaking of comfort...Fenris was already discomforted, acting like a cat locked in with a dog, trying to pace in the small space. Hawke sighed.

_If the storm doesn't kill us we may just kill each other_

Fenris seemed to decide that pacing was impossible and sat on the cave floor, as far as possible from Hawke, of course, and seeming to sink into one of his meditations. She wrapped her arms around her knees, listening to the wind outside and began to be thoroughly bored. She was at the point where baiting her companion by throwing stones at him seemed like a good idea when Fenris finally spoke.

"How is it that you know so much about surviving snow storms Hawke?"

"We had a mage come to Lothering when I was about fifteen, a friend of my fathers. He had two companions with him, a boy about my age, his apprentice, and their guide. They had come across the Anderfells – they had started with a group of about twenty; merchants and travellers mostly, a few mercenaries for protection and the guide. The weather went bad, some of the travellers thought they knew better than the guide and took off on their own - they never saw them again. Even some of those that stayed ended up with frostbite – even with a mage and an apprentice healing one man lost a foot, another lost most of his hand. They stayed with us about two months, and my father asked the guide, Kelithan, to teach Bethany, Carver and me about Survival. He had a way of making the lessons stick – He was a good teacher."

Fenris had been quiet the entire time, simply listening. But now he looked worried.

"Hawke...I am sorry – for not listening to you before. You have never led us astray yet and I had no reason to question that now. And I am sorry...For hitting you, and for pulling your hair." She had never before seen the elf look so _guilty_.

"It's ok Fenris – I honestly was more afraid you were going to skewer me with your broadsword so it worked out better in the end." She smiled, hoping he would understand that it really was ok.

He still looked worried.

"Fenris, I grew up with a little sister mage and a warrior little brother – a little slap and some hair-pulling are nothing. At least you didn't set it on fire."

"Bethany...Set your hair alight?" Now he looked like he was torn between horror and curiosity.

"Nope, Carver did – playing with candles. So I sneaked around following him for a day dressed like a Shade, scared him witless." She laughed, and for once it felt _good_ to remember her baby brother, to talk about him.

Fenris smiled back.

"I am glad I did not cause such damage to your hair, it is such lovely hair..."

The next moment was as frozen as the air outside, Hawke wanted to comment, perhaps ask Fenris he was flirting with her, but he had gone completely still, not even breathing and she didn't have the heart – he would think she was ridiculing him. She just let it pass, as they both tried to look anywhere but at the others face. And that was how she came to be looking at his feet – his bare and obviously cold feet.

"Fenris – your feet! They must be freezing, here." Hawke rummaged in her pack, pulling out two thick rolls of bandages. It wasn't perfect but it would help.

"Wrap these around your feet."

"Thank you Hawke."

The silence was comfortable this time, whilst they had talked the sun had set outside and Hawke couldn't help but notice the silvery glow of the Lyrium against Fenris' skin through half-lidded eyes. It was mesmerising how the light played over the muscles in his arms, her gaze followed the trailing designs until they met his armour and she couldn't help wondering what the rest of them looked like, what _he_ looked like, under the metal.

"You should sleep Hawke."

"Mmmrrmm..." was her only reply, already halfway following his advice.

Hawke's even, slow breathing told him she was asleep. Fenris was not exactly sure how long had passed, perhaps a several hours? It didn't matter; he did not need as much sleep as his human companion, he could stay awake the few hours till dawn came.

A few hours spent watching her sleep...There were worse things and few better that he could think of. He admired Hawke, even trusted her – more than he trusted anyone else in fact. He knew she at least liked him as a companion, letting him stay despite his faults. And he had almost ruined it today.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

He tried to ignore it, the fear that contact would mean pain. He was better than he had been, actually being able to stand being with another in this small space was a triumph. It was alright if he initiated small contact, but the feel of another grabbing his arm without warning...He had lashed out and even with Hawke's forgiveness he still felt ashamed.

_And not just because you hurt her, because when she was under you, when you ran your fingers through her hair, it felt so good..._

Fenris shook his head, as if the motion would dislodge the thought from his mind. But it was the truth, wasn't it? He _wanted_ Hawke and the fact that the thought of being intimate with someone terrified him wasn't the least of it. Why would Hawke even want him? There were too many reasons why not. It was better this way, being a friend, able to watch her back and keep her out of danger – insofar as it was possible; crazy human that she was.

Hawke shifted, trying to curl up further into herself for warmth. Fenris himself was not all that cold, but she certainly was. Surely it would only be the act of a friend to share his own warmth with her? And she was deeply asleep; he had no need to be afraid of her right now. Mind made up Fenris moved to her and pulled the sleeping woman into his arms, settling her across his lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.

She didn't wake and it felt...Good, warm and comforting, to hold her. The soft skin of her cheek brushed against his neck, the strands of her hair were silky against his face. He could smell the elfroot soap she used, the leather she wore, sweat from the battle with the Darkspawn, her skin. His hand moved without him thinking, trailing his fingers across her brow and down her cheek, then through her hair.

_You would never think it of her, to feel so soft..._

"Mnnn...Fenris..."

He felt like his heart had stopped, like it was trying to climb up his throat.

_She's awake! She is going to kill me for this, how could I have been so stupid?_

But Hawke said nothing more, did not even move. And after a breathless moment of terror Fenris realised the woman in his arms was still asleep. And she had spoken his name as he caressed her.

Why? Could it be that Hawke did not find him as unattractive a prospect as he had thought? The thought was both exhilarating...and terrifying.

What could he offer her, still half-broken as he was? A lover who only dared hold her as she slept, who could only nearly bear to touch and not to be touched? That was no relationship, and as sweet and forgiving as she could be Hawke could never be satisfied with such – he could not do that to her, at best she would come to hate him, at worst hate herself.

But...he _was_ getting better. When he had first escaped from the magister even this would have been unthinkable. It would be a slow road, but it could be done, he would conquer this fear, re-learn to accept touch as natural and not threatening. He would do it, he could do it. And then he would court Hawke, let her know what she meant to him. And now he had another reason to love her, this crazy, forgiving, combat-hardened, soft human woman. Hawke had given him purpose.

But until then, morning was coming and for now he needed to let her go.

The morning came, and snow was falling.


	2. Rain

**Rain**

Rain washed across the windows of the house.

It had been five years since he had escaped from the magister and joined a mercenary group led by a crazy human refugee. And four years to the day since that night they had been stranded together in a tiny cave on Sundermount...

Four years since he had admitted he loved her and had realised that she might love him. Four years since he had made a promise, to her and himself.

So much had happened he mused. At first they had been just another group for hire, now they were making a name for themselves, thanks in part to Varric's vast network and storytelling.

And since that day he had actually come to like his other companions. Varric could spin a tale like no other, and Fenris had to admit that watching how the Dwarf interacted with others had been an education he had badly needed.

Merrill had come to be almost family to him. The only other elf in their party understood things that the others could not. And she been more than willing to share her knowledge of the Dalish, the Dales and Arlathan with him – she had even begun teaching him what she knew of the Old Language. But she was also the most _caring_ person he had met, always there with a kind word for anyone.

Aveline he had learnt carried her own sadness, having lost her husband Wesley to the Darkspawn. He admired her strength in continuing her life with purpose instead of giving in to grief. Fenris also agreed with her realistic views on concepts like honour and they would often discuss such topics, as well as debate about the various merits of differing weaponry, armour and combat strategies.

Bethany's eyes had nearly bugged out of their sockets when Fenris had started to respond to her questions about his Lyrium brands. But her shock had soon faded and Fenris had come to realise that Hawke's sister was a powerful and intelligent mage, but also that her interest in the Lyrium was purely academic. Never once had she made him feel less than a person, and through her Fenris began to accept that not all mages were lunatic sadists as his old master had been.

Sebastian's dedication to avenging his family was something Fenris could well understand, but strangely enough it was he who helped the noble.

"_It will consume you, you know, unless you control it."_

"_And what would you know of it elf? Was your family murdered? Were you exiled from your own home?"_

"_I was never given the __**chance**__ to know my family, and my people have been exiled from __**two**__ homes. I was treated worse than an animal, tortured and experimented on. I know what it is to burn with the need for vengeance and I also know that letting it control you will bring you no closer to your goal."_

"_Perhaps...you have a point."_

Anders was actually quite likeable, at first Fenris had dismissed him as whiny and indolent and yes, the mage _did_ like to complain, but he knew when to stop jesting and get the job done. Fenris had been interested by the mages tales about the Grey Warden whom he had met in Amaranthine – it was clear he held her in high regard, and perhaps had even loved her. There he and Fenris had found common ground, discussing their own strong, remarkable women.

And that left Isabela. When he and Hawke had returned from Sundermount the former ship's captain had cornered him whilst the others had questioned Hawke.

"_So, finally admitted it to yourself, have you?"_

"_I don't..."_

"_Yeah, you __**do**__. You care for her, might even love her, and it's just possible she might not be adverse to it. But you flinch if someone gets too close; lash out if they actually __**touch**__ and who wants a lover like that eh?"_

He had been shocked by her insight – was he really so transparent? Isabela had sighed.

"_You're only obvious if you know the signs. I've seen a lot of bad things Fenris, seen the damage left behind. You aren't the first I've met with your difficulties – only the way in which it happened is different. And I can help you, I want to help."_

"_Why?"_

"_Afraid I'll keep that to myself, a woman's gotta have some secrets..."_

With her guidance Fenris had found his aversion to touch lessening little by little and including himself in their group had helped as well.

And now, four years later he thought perhaps he was ready. It was a dreary winter's day, the rain falling in sheets. Varric was meeting with his brother about house Tethras matters; Isabela had dragged Aveline to a tavern and Anders had gone of his own accord. Bethany and Merrill were in their Mage workshop doing...something. Sebastian was visiting a friend of his from the Chantry.

Hawke was in her room.

Fenris paced in front of her door, finding himself unaccountably nervous. How was he supposed to go about this? He had to calm down; Isabela had talked him through this.

"_Knock on her door; ask her if you can talk. Then __**tell**__ her, tell her that you think she's wonderful, that you haven't felt like this for anyone in a long time, that you feel close to her and if she reacts favourably then you kiss her."_

"_And if she __**doesn't**__ react favourably?"_

"_Seeing as its Hawke...run and pray."_

"Fenris?"

He very nearly yelped. Hawke was standing in her open doorway, dressed in the light linen trousers and cotton tunic she wore when at home. Her russet hair was down, framing her face, the faded blue tunic brought out her dark eyes.

She was beautiful, and he was robbed of speech and coherent thought.

"Is something the matter Fenris?"

He finally managed to find his voice.

"I...ah, might we speak Hawke?"

"Of course." She gestured for him to follow her into her room. When she turned his mouth went dry, he was used to seeing her in leather and chainmail – not the most attractive of outfits. But the brown trousers she now wore, though plain, were _very_ well tailored.

'_Focus... No __**not **__there.'_

She sat on her bed and he took the chair at her desk, using those precious moments to collect his scattered thoughts.

"We have been together for a numbers of years now, and there is something I wished to discuss with you..." He trailed off, unsure again.

And Hawke wasn't helping. She was sitting, one slender leg slung across her lap, her lips relaxed into that sweet half-smile that left him somewhere between melting and blazing and, oh Maker she was absently playing with her hair, twisting those soft strands around her fingers...

'_This is __**impossible**__!'_

"Uhhh, Fenris? Is something wrong?"

"Yes! Well, really no but...Argh..._Vishante kaffar!_"

Fenris was a warrior, not a damned bard! Hawke was looking at him with an adorably confused expression, her soft, pink lips slightly parted. It was too much; he stalked toward the seated woman, grabbed her face in both his hands and crushed his mouth to hers.

Her lips were just as soft as he had imagined, and she tasted almost sweet. He slid his tongue across her lips and they parted for him, allowing him to explore her mouth. He slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

He finally pulled away, looking into Hawke's eyes. They were soft and held a tenderness he could not remember having seen directed at him. She reached a hand toward him and caressed his cheek and he leant in to the contact. The hand slid down his neck and paused at the ties on his tunic. Hawke looked at him questioning and he nodded.

Deft fingers undid the knots, teasingly stroking the flesh revealed. He wanted more of that touch, he pulled the tunic off completely and Hawke's eyes glittered appreciatively. She laid her hands on his hips and pulled him gently to sit on the bed. She moved forward and, _Maker!_ Her lips caressed along his neck as her hands slid up and down his belly. Heat pooled under her hands and he shuddered at the feeling. He felt her smile against his skin. One hand skimmed up to his chest and he had to bite back a moan as a finger circled his nipple.

This was too much! He caught her hands and pulled her into another kiss. She gripped his hands in reply and guided them to the hem of her tunic and helped him slide it off. He pulled back to gaze at the pale, perfect skin bared for him and nearly swallowed his tongue when she reached back and undid her breast band.

Fenris was suddenly hesitant. Hawke was so...delicate, slim and smooth and pale and soft. And it had been...a long time since he had lain with another – what if he hurt her? She looked so fragile...

A hand caressed over his ear. "Fenris..." Her voice was husky "I'm not made of glass, and I am not easily broken – you _know_ I'm not." She smiled at him "Let's just let this go as it will, yes?" Her thumb traced over the point of his ear. She leaned forward and replaced it with her tongue. He felt as much as heard her whisper.

"I trust you, I love you."

"And I you."

"Then come here and _show_ me Fenris."

################################

Later he lay drowsy and content, his arms wrapped around Hawke, who was asleep with her head resting on his chest, her soft breaths almost tickling his skin.

He loved and was loved, trusted and was trusted. In five years so much had changed and he owed much of it to the woman in his arms.

Rain washed across the windows of the house.


	3. Ears

His ears. Those damned pointy, soft and oh-so-sensitive ears were calling to her. They wanted her to nip and lick at them as she had done last night, to pinch them between her fingers and massage them in the way that made him moan _every time_.

Hawke was pretty sure she had lost her sanity somewhere along the way...

She had had lovers before. Granted, they had all been completely normal human men and not Lyrium-branded elven ex-slaves. But none of _them_ caused the feelings, emotions and let's face it _urges_ that Fenris did.

She remembered with crystal clarity their first time together. How he had come to her door, nervous and unsure and she had worried that something had gone horribly wrong. Until he had sworn in Tervinter and kissed her. She remembered how he had responded to her ministrations, and his expression when she had stripped off her tunic and breatsband; torn between arousal and tenderness.

His worry over hurting her, unwarranted thought it was, was still so very sweet. And given that most of the time he was a confident, dangerous, snarky warrior being able to see his more tender side was a gift she cherished.

Her lover tuned his head to answer a question Merrill asked him across the breakfast table – Giving Hawke an even better view of_ those damned ears!_ He had to be doing it on purpose, just to torment her. There was no way he could have possibly not noticed the effect he was having, could he?

She caught his eye and he smiled. Not the _'I want to ravish you right now'_ smile, but the '_Good morning, I love you'_ smile. She smiled back; she could do nothing else when he looked at her that way. But it confirmed her suspicions, Fenris had no idea how he was tempting her to push him against the table and kiss him senseless.

Damn oblivious sexy elf.

She continued to watch her lover, marvelling at the change in the man. When they had met four years ago Fenris had been ready to kill her and her companions, believing them to be allied with those hunting him.

He had joined them instead, but had always been aloof, keeping to himself, snarky – bordering on downright insulting and refusing all companionship. She had wondered why he even stayed. But after that night on Sundermount everything had changed. She wasn't sure what it was about that night stuck in a tiny cave during a snowstorm, but it had obviously meant something to Fenris.

He had joined in conversations with them, began to ask about the others lives and in turn had revealed more about himself. She was proud of him for that, and also proud of her companions for letting him in, especially since he had been quite an ass before.

He no longer had the urge to beat anyone who touched him either. Obviously, otherwise their sex life would have been...rather..._difficult_, though the thought of tying him down...**NO** Hawke, not at breakfast!

"Dear me Hawke, what _are_ you planning for our poor elven friend with that grin?"

Holy Maker! How long had Isabela been standing there? She tried for an innocent look.

"What do you mean Isabela?"

The former captain laughed.

"Love, you're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to lie to _me_. And anyway I already know about you and shiny there – Who do you think gave him pointers on romancing you?"

Hawke laughed; there was nothing else she could think to do. She could only imagine how Isabela giving Fenris lessons on love had gone.

"Then your teaching ability could use some work Izzy."

"Hey, it worked didn't it? And that was the culmination of four years of hard work. And five years unrequited love could leave a man a bit impatient."

Five years unrequited love...what?

Isabela must have seen her confusion.

"I think he's loved you since you met. Getting stuck on the mountain just brought it home to him. I could see it in his eyes when you came back. He's needed a lot of help to get to where he is, but being with you was a goal he was set on achieving. That sort of thing helps a lot." She explained.

For a moment Hawke was unable to even _think_. She finally found her voice.

"Me? He's done all this...Five years...For _me_?"

"Yep love, _you_. And I'll tell you this – after what he's done for you if you break his heart I'll make you wish you were dead my dear." Isabela's voice was light, but there was no mistaking the steel in her tone.

"Never, never ever." Hawke promised.

He had pulled down his defences, left himself bare, had faced demons that would have crippled lesser men; he had healed himself inside and out – for her. Because he loved _her_.

She stood and walked to the table and slid her body between Fenris and Merrill. He smiled at her, a smile of completion and happiness. She would make sure that smile never left. She grabbed him by those ears, pulled him to her and kissed him for all she was worth.


	4. Dismemberment Tuesday

**Dismemberment Tuesday**

Hawke groaned as she _finally _unlaced her leather and chainmail tunic – armour was all well and good until one wore it for three days straight whilst tramping through the woods hunting bandits. She had been well and truly ready deal with them when they caught up with them. At least she was home now – even if it was _extremely _late at night.

She looked at the offending article and wrinkled her nose – it stank of sweat and blood and other, even more disgusting, fluids. There was no way her sense of smell would let her sleep with it in the room, and as tired as she was she probably should clean it, and herself, before retiring for what was left of the night.

She decided to do the worst part first and cleaned her amour. She wiped and oiled the leather, then scrubbed and polished the chainmail – finally satisfied with the look and smell of it she asked one of the maids to set up a bath. Thankfully those working in her household were willing to put up with Hawke's eccentricities – to whit, needing a bath at some ungodly time of the night. She paid well and wasn't cruel, even if she was strange.

Hawke sank into the heated water, this was heaven! The only thing that could make it better was if a certain elven lover of hers was here as well, but Fenris had gone with Varric to report on their little expedition. Such things often took _ages _and he had urged her to go home and sleep and not wait up for him. Hawke smiled, she loved the care Fenris took with her; the gentle, loving side he showed only to her.

She soaked and wet her hair down, then climbed out of the tub to soap up. She decided to indulge and use the new cinnamon soap she had bought; she wanted to surprise her lover with it. She lathered it on and combed her sudsy hair through with a wide-toothed comb. She then rinsed and climbed back into the tub to enjoy the warm water while it lasted. It was _sooo _nice and she closed her eyes and luxuriated...

Hawke's rogue senses woke her before the assassin was within striking distance. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped out of the tub and toward the dagger hidden beneath her towel. She grabbed it and whirled to face her attacker – in any other situation she would have been mortified at her state of undress, but right now being _dead_ was worse than being _naked_.

The assassin, a human male, leered at her.

"Well this job keeps looking better, want me to show you a good time before you die pretty thing?" The thug licked his lips, his eyes roving places they had no right to rove.

"How about I show you what your intestines look like you slimy little sod?" She shot back.

Her attackers face hardened. He had not been a particularly handsome specimen before, and the new expression did nothing for him.

"I was going to play nice little bitch, but now you're gonna be begging for death long before I slit that throat of yours." He snarled.

"Come here and try it!" She taunted.

The man's face suddenly blanched as a gauntleted hand appeared through his chest, his death rattle was gurgled as blood spilt from his mouth. Fenris pulled his hand free and let the man fall to the floor contemptuously. Hawke sighed.

"I _could_ have taken care of him myself dear." She said, only half meaning the exasperated tone in her voice. Fenris grinned back at her, unrepentant.

"I know, love, but I did want you to rest." He explained, calm as if they were discussing a minor household issue.

Which for them, it was.

"_Mistress Hawke! Mistress Hawke!_" One of the maids, Sophie, she thought, came running and screaming into the room. She stopped and screamed once, then covered her mouth and stood bug-eyed at the sight before her.

Hawke, naked and holding a dagger, an assassin dead on the floor and Fenris. Hawke hoped she wasn't going to faint, she wanted to go back to sleep.

"Sophie! Stop staring and get one of the guards to take out this trash girl."

Ah, help had arrived in the form of Housemistress Clara. She shooed the girl out and turned to her employer, surveying the room and all its oddities.

"Ah, 'tis Tuesday again isn't it Mistress Hawke?"


End file.
